dances of lunar energy
by colorful swirls
Summary: Because he's Slytherin and she's Ravenclaw and these things never work out long term, but that doesn't mean you can't try. - DracoLuna.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

:-:

With a flurry of dirty blonde hair and loopy yet graceful steps, she's got him.

:-:

Draco Malfoy is not, in fact, a horrible person. He's not a particularly _good_ person, either, though.

He'll stand up for what he believes in, definitely, but it's what he stands _up_ for that almost always shows off his more evil side.

Maybe if he would've fallen for her sooner, it wouldn't have turned out as it did.

:-:

In addition, Draco is too much of a follower (and he follows the wrong people).

Lucius plants ideas and plans into his head—stories of kings and knights and lords. He believes every single word—it's his _father_, after all, and his father would never _lie_ to him— and doesn't begin to think of what the tales actually imply before it is much too late.

Even if he does think killing all Muggles and Muggleborns is excessive, it's not like he can change anything, so what's the point in even trying?

(He'll stand up for what be believes in.

But whenever he realizes he's been wrong the whole war—_it's time to be a good guy—_Voldemort is already taking over the school, so he settles for staging his own slight-rebellion by not attacking any students.)

:-:

At the Sorting during his second year and her first, he is barely paying attention. Potter and Weasley aren't there yet—and he hopes that they'll never arrive.

He's a little baffled, though, because the Granger girl is all by herself with Longbottom, looking worried about her two friends that have never done something _this_ against the rules before.

The once he glances up at the stage, Luna Lovegood is practically dancing down the steps, hair a tangle behind her, smiling a dreamy smile at the Ravenclaw table.

Draco sneers a bit, nudging Crabbe to look, and they snigger while the Ravenclaws look at this oddity, wondering if they should be clapping (apparently, they decide on a huge, resounding _no_).

:-:

As it turns out, Potter and Weasley don't get expelled. Bummer.

_Now_, he thinks, _the only good thing about this year is Quidditch._

Yes, maybe he did buy his way on the team—who cares, anyway?—but, besides, it's more than that Mudblood has ever done in her miserable life, so he doesn't let himself get too worked up over it.

:-:

He sees her in his third, fourth, and fifth years, all basically the same.

Third year, she is dancing.

Fourth year, she is dancing.

Fifth year, she's still dancing—he doesn't think that that part will ever going away—but she's got a bit more rhythm, a few more people to dance with her.

Potter, Granger, and the Weasleys.

_Of course_, he thinks with a snicker. _Crazies stick together._

—:-:

By the end of his fifth and beginning of his sixth year, he's not even if he's _Draco_ anymore.

It's too much stress for a sixteen-year-old boy.

_Do I kill the old man, and become a murderer? Or spare him, and get murdered?_

The worse thought of them all:_ what if it doesn't matter?_

_What if he'll just kill me in the end, anyway?_

:-:

He realizes, standing in front of Moaning Mrytle's mirror, that his biggest fear is of being wrong and his greatest secret:

His unwarranted, unwanted, unearthly attraction to Luna Lovegood.

:-:

She is _such_ a mystery. Everything about her is unpredictable, and maybe that's what draws him in. He's not in love with her—he's fascinated by her, and there is a huge difference, he hastens to assure himself.

During the end of the sixth year, before everything _completely_ turns upside down, she meets him in the bathroom a few times.

"Don't worry," she always says. "If you fight for what's right, you'll win, Draco. The right side always wins; even when the bad side is bigger."

The only problem with this is that he's not sure what is the right side and what is the bad side.

And even if he _is_ on the bad side (he has a sneaking suspicion that he might be), how can he just up and leave his mother and father—his poor, poor mother and father—to rally under Potter and Weasley and Granger?

Maybe it is trivial in this serious of a situation—after all, his biggest fear is of being wrong—but he finds himself not wanting that to happen.

:-:

All through this, she's stealing him. Piece by piece and inch by inch, but his will to resist her is crumbling, and they both know it.

:-:

On a downcast, gray Tuesday in that horrendous (even for him) seventh year, he pushes her into an empty classroom.

He is risking a lot, which surprises her (he's not the type to be brave). But she needs to know this, she has to, before his side is officially revealed.

He takes her hair in his hands and looks in her eyes—really looks in them, and sees make-believe, but also more truth than he knows is inside his eyes—the whole while.

Then, he _ohso_softly takes an arm and puts it around her waist, keeping the other in her hair, and he sees her eyelids flutter shut before he evens places his lips on hers.

He kisses her.

That is all.

:-:

No "I love you"'s or "Thank you"'s or anything of the sort.

He is Draco Malfoy—a Slytherin—and working up the nerve to even kiss her takes enough bravery for a lifetime, in his opinion.

Besides, even if he does feel a bit bad about not explaining himself, he knows it's all for the best.

How could he convey just how much she enthralls him, just how beautiful she is, just how fascinating her creatures are, just how much she managed to help him in a couple visits to the bathroom?

He wouldn't even know where to begin.

:-:

So he keeps quiet, and remembers the stories of princes and mighty lords and knights and slaves.

He vaguely remembers a princess in there, somewhere, and how he knows, he doesn't know, but he is absolutely positive that she had mystical, pale blue eyes.

:-:

When she arrives—in a bag—at his house, to be put in the cellar, it is the most cowardly thing he's ever done, watching Wormtail throw her in.

And it breaks his heart, because he knows that she's in there now, telling the other prisoner all about Nargles and promising that they'll both be alright.

And he knows that the other prisoner will believe her, just like he did when she told him _he_ would be alright.

:-:

Sometime soon after the war's end, he walks up to her. He just wants to know if she's alright—she has to be, after all she's done for others.

It turns out she is fine. She tells him her story, and he tells her his, and by the end of the conversation he's decided that she's the one.

:-:

Of course, he's a Slytherin and she's a Ravenclaw, and these kinds of things never work out in the long run.

A few kisses, a few nights, more than a few days, and he's already realized that nothing truer has ever been said.

Her face is too pure, her hands too clean, her body too unblemished for him. He will only drag her down—and Luna Malfoy doesn't sound right, anyway.

(Then again, neither does Luna Scamander.)

:-:

Taking her to meadows and parks and mountains just doesn't work.

She's still too good for him—always searching, never giving up, and though she claims to love him with all her soul, he knows she would do better with someone—anyone—other than conniving, sneaky, Draco Malfoy.

:-:

So he kisses her, takes in those eyes that are still dreamy, but much brighter, and makes it last as long as it can with the knowledge that they're not meant to be.

(_Since when has he followed rules?_, people wonder.

But he'd do anything for her. Even follow rules.)

:-:

One day, she climbs on his lap and asks: "Do you love me, Draco?"

"How could I not?" he grins up at her, twirling a piece of her hair in his fingers.

"I don't know," she answers innocently, eyes wide, and he laughs out loud.

:-:

It's July 4th when they end things.

Outside, by the lake, but sheltered by trees, he turns to her.

"Luna," he says softly, but she's already a step ahead of him, as per usual.

She stands up and smooths her skirt. "It's okay, Draco," she murmurs, and then kisses the top of his head, smoothing the hair away gently.

"Bye." Then she dances, floating on the edges of insanity and genius, away from him.

(He almost calls her back. But he's a _Slytherin_, and they don't do gutsy, Gryffindor things like that.)

:-:

Years after, finds Astoria, she finds Rolf, he has Scorpius, she has Lorcan and Lysander.

He wonders if it's just him, or is it actually odd that their respective children have the same exact shade of white-dirty-blond hair?

:-:

He's at his desk, sitting tidily, whenever Astoria comes in, holding a letter and fighting back tears, it looks like.

"It's from the Weasleys," she manages, and he sits her down on the bed instantly before taking the letter and smoothing it out.

_In an unfortunate accident,_ it reads, _Luna was killed while hunting for Crumple-Horned Snorkacks._

_We request your presence at her funeral on the second of May, 2029._

:-:

He laughs, the sound hollow and empty and bitter and _broken_.

After everything that's happened on the second of May already, they are seriously going to stick yet _another_ tragedy on that day?

:-:

Astoria cries—bless her—and it makes him feel even _more_ guilty about the longing that still resides in his chest, to this day.

:-:

He breaks down (one time) before the day of the event, walking by and seeing a full moon in the inky blue sky. And it's almost too much to bear (only a few tears) because he thinks that she was never a star—she was the moon, (his moon) lighting up the entire sky.

:-:

The funeral is held at the Potter Mansion, where nearly everyone has tear tracks running a path down their faces, which makes him feel somewhat better. At least they're all not completely pretending.

:-:

Pictures are everywhere. He can't turn around without seeing a piece of her past.

Baby pictures, photos of her with her parents, on a pony, as a young girl, as a teenager, wedding pictures, her holding a twin in each arm, her with Rolf, and there's even one at the very back—probably taken by that stalker photo boy that died—with her and him.

It very nearly makes tears run down his face, again, but he restrains them, because he's _Draco Malfoy_.

:-:

During the reception, a little girl comes up to him. She's obviously a Weasley—he can tell instantly by her deep brown eyes, but her long, fluffy mane of blonde hair reminds him of someone he doesn't want to name.

The black dress she's wearing makes her long like a dark angel—and perhaps she is, judging by the pain she's causing him just by _dancing_.

"Excuse me, Mr. Malfoy," the girl says after she's done with her dance. "But why haven't you kissed Miss Luna yet?"

"I don't know what you mean," he replies without tone, trying to pretend the words don't throw an onslaught of memories at him.

The girl puts her hands on her hips, and he sees the wings glimmer in his imagination.

"You're her prince," the girl says slowly. "She's your princess. You have to kiss her, to wake her up!"

Her voice is now desperate and upset; exactly like he feels, though his feelings are more intense - this little girl _can't_ understand death yet, not yet.

"Lucy!" he hears suddenly, and a nice-looking woman with flowing brown hair appears, scooping the girl up and straightening her dress.

"Hey, Mommy," Lucy says nonchalantly, sticking her thumb in her mouth, as if she hadn't been emotionally tormenting an almost-stranger just ten seconds previously.

"Hi, sweetie," the lady replies, taking the thumb of out Lucy's mouth gently but firmly.

Then the woman turns to him. "I'm Audrey Weasley," she says, sticking out her free hand. "Thank you for watching over my daughter."

Draco shakes her hand, giving Lucy a tiny wink. "It was no problem," he answers kindly, and then he nods with a small smile before heading away.

:-:

He does kiss her, though, because even though he doesn't believe the stories his father told him, or the fairytales Lucy did, he believes in his love for her.

So, with ever gentle hands and _ohso_careful composure—this is not the time to break down—he places his flowers beside her pale body and kisses her eyes shut, her skin already cold but still burning to the touch when his lips find it.

And he barely notices Rolf's narrowed eyes in the background.

The guy can go back to whatever Dr. Seuss book he came from, in Draco's opinion.

:-:

Sometime later, Astoria is gone and Scorpius is married, and it's all he does all day, think and remember and regret.

Some days he wonders why he mourns for blue eyes instead of green; other times he knows that he never loved Astoria the same way he loved her.

Some days he vows he'll find one of those Crumple Smirks or whatever she named them; others he knows that he'd crumble before making it.

But everyday he replays her dancing in his mind, and he wonders if she would mind him stealing her moves.

(He really needs to stay in shape.)

:-:

He still grieves after years and years, but it's slightly not as sad, because if he knows Luna, she's up in wonderland, still looking for a Crumple-Horned Snorkack.

:-:

* * *

i don't believe in fairy tales  
i don't believe in fairy tales  
i don't believe in fairy tales  
**but i believe in you and me**

_—Wonderland, Natalie Kills_

* * *

**Written For:**

**- The If You Dare Challenge, Prompt #690 (Wonderland).**

**- The One Hour Pairing Challenge/Hardest Challenge Ever II with the pairing of Draco/Luna, prompts Wonderland by Natalie Kills and "steal," time limit of 2 hours and word count of 2,500+.**

**- Silver (negative) on Empress Empoleon's Colors Competition.**

**Please review.  
**


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